


Unacceptable Behavior

by Fanforthefics (StormDancer)



Series: Hockey Tumblr Oneshots [31]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-27 18:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16707835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/Fanforthefics
Summary: "Landy was just interrogating me on my current romantic situation,” Tyson tells Nate. He’s still eying Gabe with that same look, his eyes somehow both flinty and pathetic at once. Gabe steels himself against the urge to go, like, take him home and set him up with Zoey and cartoons and feed him chocolate until he feels better. He’s right, dammit.“Yeah, that tracks,” Nate agrees.





	Unacceptable Behavior

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: a kiss...out of jealousy. 
> 
> Don't know, don't own, etc.

“Are you dating Willy?” 

Tyson looks at Gabe, then blinks. His jaw sets. Gabe’s jaw sets right back. This was the third time in a row that Tyson and Willy had talked about hanging out this week, and at least was at a time when Nate was with Gabe, and so Gabe figured they’d been alone. Then today, Tyson had just walked into the locker room with Willy, both of them laughing, and Tyson had looked up at Willy like he was hysterical and overwhelming and did that… _thing_ he did when he was being charmingly ridiculous and Willy had rolled his eyes but grinned fondly, and–Gabe has a good reason to ask, is what he’s saying. Tyson’s supposed to look at Gabe like that. 

“What?” Tyson demands. 

“Are you dating Colin Wilson?” Gabe repeats. He thinks his voice is even, too. It’s–he’s captain. He’s supposed to know about any potential dynamic shifts in the room. 

Tyson’s eyes narrow. He glances around the room, but it’s empty–Gabe had been sure to grab him when no one else was around. Or, well. He’d been sure to grab Tyson and tell him to stick around, because Gabe had been distracted all practice and that wasn’t okay. He’d looked like an idiot. He wasn’t going to do that again.  _And_ Willy had been on fire, which was just unfair. 

“Seriously, Gabe?” 

“Seriously.” 

Tyson huffs out a breath. “Are you asking as my friend, or as my captain?” 

Gabe huffs out his own breath. Why is Tyson making this so difficult? “Does it matter?” 

“Yes,” Tyson says back, in that way he gets when he’s dead set on something. Like, hockey-serious Tyson, not off-ice-serious Tyson.  

Gabe does some quick mental math. As captain, Tyson has to tell him. As captain, it’s not weird for him to demand to know about whether two of his teammates are dating. As a friend–as a friend, Gabe will have to maybe confront why his stomach started clenching when he first got this idea into his head and it hasn’t stopped, and he doesn’t want to do that. 

“As your captain,” he decides. 

“Then it’s none of your business unless it affects my play,” Tyson snaps back, fast enough that he’d clearly set Gabe up. Gabe scowls. That’s not a bad point. That’s the point he’d make, if anyone were asking him about maybe dating a teammate. Not that he’s thought about it. 

“Fine, as your friend,” he snaps back. “Are you?” 

“As my friend, fuck off,” Tyson retorts. His eyebrows are drawn together–he looks really mad now. Or maybe hurt, which is way worse. Gabe always ends up doing ridiculous things when Tyson looks hurt. “What the hell, Landy?” 

“Yeah, what the hell, Landy?” Nate echoes, ducking his head into the locker room. His eyebrows go up, probably at the tension in the room. “Everything okay here?” 

“Yeah, Landy was just interrogating me on my current romantic situation,” Tyson tells him. He’s still eying Gabe with that same look, his eyes somehow both flinty and pathetic at once. Gabe steels himself against the urge to go, like, take him home and set him up with Zoey and cartoons and feed him chocolate until he feels better. He’s right, dammit. 

“Yeah, that tracks,” Nate agrees. 

“Yeah. About how he thinks I’m dating Willy.” Nate’s jaw drops. Tyson’s still glaring. “Which I told him was none of his beeswax. So buzz off.” He picks up his bag, and gives Gabe one final look before he leaves. 

“Willy?” Nate asks, still looking at Gabe in confusion but also maybe like he’s laughing at him. “Really? Out of all the guys on the team–Willy? Not me?” 

“Tyson’s not dating you,” Gabe informs him. He’s sure of that. It maybe took him a little while, because in his defense Tyson called Nate ridiculous nicknames that could be petnames a lot and they seemed to be joined at the hip, but Gabe was over his jealousy of Nate. Nate and Tyson’s bond was just different than the one he had with Gabe. Gabe was okay with that. “Is he dating Willy?”

Nate snorts. “If Tyson didn’t say anything, I’m not going to.” He’s definitely3 on the edge of cracking up. 

“You’re my A,” Gabe complains. It’s not a whine. Nate’s eyebrows go up. 

“Bro,” he says, and he’s more serious now. “Are you using your position as captain to get me to betray Tyson’s trust?” But that way, Gabe can admit, it sounds bad. He sighs. 

“No.” He’s not. He’s really not. He just–wants to know. 

“Good.” Nate smacks him on the shoulder. Gabe will never admit it, but it hurts. “I’m rooting for you, Landy. But not if you do something fucked up like that.”  

“I won’t,” Gabe promises, then– “Wait, why are you rooting for me? Am I competing? He is dating Willy!” 

Nate blinks. Somehow, despite the fact that they look nothing alike, it looks uncannily like how Tyson blinked earlier. It reminds Gabe of dogs and their owners. “ _Bro_ ,” he says, deeply and with feeling, and follows Tyson out. 

“No, wait!” Gabe demands, following him. “Nate!” 

* * *

Fine, Gabe decides. If Tyson won’t just tell him, as a friend, he’ll have to investigate on his own. 

He does this by watching them at the bar the team goes to, after a game. They’re at a table with a bunch of people, so it’s not like Gabe’s spying on them in an intimate moment or anything. He’s just–looking. 

They’re sitting across the table from each other, is Gabe’s first observation. He can’t see under the table, though, so he can’t really be sure they aren’t playing footsie or anything. Footsie is a dangerous game at a table with too many hockey players for leg room, Gabe knows from unfortunate experience, but he’d guess that wouldn’t stop Tyson. It doesn’t look like they’re paying each other more attention than they normally would–Willy’s chatting with Barbs and Sam; Tyson with EJ and Kerfy–but Gabe doesn’t remember anymore. And maybe they’re conspicuously not paying each other attention. In fact, that’s a suspiciously little amount of attention to be paying Tyson. And Tyson’s looking good tonight, all of his summer muscle still clear on his frame, his smile somehow especially inviting. Gabe’s actually a little annoyed at Colin for this. He should be paying Tyson attention. Gabe should probably give him a talking to, just to make sure he’s treating Tyson right. 

Tyson looks away from EJ, and then his eyes lock with Gabe. Gabe doesn’t look away, on the theory that if he doesn’t Tyson might not notice he was staring. 

Tyson rolls his eyes, then gestures with his empty drink, makes a face. Gabe rolls his eyes back, mouths  _drunk_ , but he turns to the bar to order Tyson a drink. 

He takes it and his beer back to the booth, then shoves at Tyson’s side until he moves over enough to make room next to him. There isn’t, strictly speaking, enough space for all of them in the booth, so Gabe can both know what Tyson’s thigh feels like pressed up against his leg and also that Tyson’s feet are not across the table. 

“Here,” he says, pushing over the margarita to Tyson. “Have your smoothie.” 

“And a delicious smoothie it is,” Tyson agrees, grinning at Gabe around the straw as he takes a sip. Gabe smiles back reflexively. Tyson’s apparently forgiven him from yesterday. “If you got off your high horse, you could also partake in the joys of fruity drinks.” 

“I don’t think I could take all that sugar.” 

“What, Gabe, you don’t like sweet things?” Tyson tosses back. “I’d say you were too sweet already, but we all know that’s not true. You’re mean.” 

“I’m not mean,” Gabe protests. Then, at the comments that come in all around, “I’m only mean when I should be, then.” He smirks at Tyson. “Sometimes it’s fun.” 

Tyson’s cheeks go red, and he takes another sip of his margarita, muttering something under his breath. Then he resurfaces, still flushed and half-glaring at Gabe. “Whatever, I get to have like infinite dessert, and you all are just drinking bread.” 

“That’s not necessarily true,” Willy puts in. Tyson looks over at him. Gabe doesn’t growl, or anything, but it’s maybe a beer away. “Beers are carbs, but actually the yeast is–” 

“Boo!” Comphy cuts him off. “Don’t ruin beer by making it healthy.” 

“Yeah, next thing you know you’ll be telling me there are kale margaritas,” Tyson adds. Willy rolls his eyes, but he smiles at Tyson. 

“I mean, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t–” 

“Nope,” Tyson interrupts, and puts his drink down to slaps his hands over his ears. “No, I’m not hearing this, hmmmmm.” 

Gabe rescues the drink from falling off the side of the table, and smirks at Willy. “Yeah, Willy. Stop terrorizing Tyson with tales of healthy food.” 

“Hey!” Tyson turns to Gabe now, flushed and intent. Yes. Good. That’s where his attention belongs–bickering with Gabe, “I eat healthy food. I keep my diet plan.” 

Gabe raises a skeptical eyebrow. He’s seen how enthusiastically Tyson breaks his diet plan. He’s maybe encouraged it more than once, more than he should–Tyson’s mental health is more important, he’s always rationalized. And when he comes over and Gabe gives him his favorite ice cream, or proposes a Dairy Queen trip, or gives him candy–Tyson will smile at Gabe like Gabe’s important, like he’s the only person in the world, like they’re going where Gabe thinks they are. Like Gabe could make Tyson happy, for real. 

But still. Tyson definitely breaks his diet plan. “Okay, well, I’m sorry some of us have a sweet tooth,” Tyson sputters, his cheeks going red. “Anyway, it has advantages.” 

“Like?” 

“Chocolate makes you happy, didn’t you know?” Tyson tells him. “Which explains why you’re always so grumpy.” 

“I’m not grumpy!” Gabe protests. This time it’s Tyson’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and fine. Maybe Gabe’s been a little grumpy lately. But only lately. “Not usually,” he mutters, amending. 

“It’s okay,” Tyson reaches out to pat Gabe’s hand, apparently condescending, except Tyson’s touch has never felt simply anything. “We all accept you for who you are. Even when you’re being moody and ridiculous.” 

Gabe smiles back, because he knows it irritates Tyson, and also because he’s just–amused and happy. “And we accept you for who you are. Even when you’re drinking smoothies pretending to be alcohol.” 

“I accept neither of you,” Comphy mutters, and shoves his way out past Willy. Willy, who is watching them, something amused in his face. Or maybe wary? Willy’s generally a pretty good natured guy, it’s hard to tell. Gabe doesn’t know what that means. Gabe’s, like. Not being particularly subtle about flirting with Tyson right now. 

“Well,” Tyson retorts. “Maybe I’m just being considerate. I’ve never heard any complaints from anyone I’ve hooked up with.” 

Gabe chokes on his beer. EJ actually cackles. Willy snorts. Gabe ducks his head, so that he doesn’t have to look at Tyson, who’s flushing but looking pleased with himself at the reaction that got. Fuck, now he’s thinking about it–about getting on his knees for Tyson, about taking Tyson apart with his hands and mouth, Tyson’s hand in his hair–he’d be loud, because it’s Tyson, he’d probably tell Gabe just how good it felt–

Gabe shifts in his seat, his pants feeling a little tight. But he has an image to maintain, so, “Yeah?” he replies. “Neither have I, and I don’t drink vodka smoothies.” 

Now it’s Tyson’s turn to make a noise that isn’t exactly dignified. EJ is still cackling. Gabe would flip him off, but he can’t look away from Tyson. “You wouldn’t,” Tyson shoots back. Gabe can feel how his thigh is bouncing, though. “You’re all–you. No one’s going to complain about hooking up with you. Some of us have to make sure our jizz tastes good, okay?” 

EJ’s started to howl. Gabe’s a little worried about him, actually. Not worried enough to make sure he’s breathing, but still. “Some of us have the skills to make sure no one notices,” Gabe retorts. This whole conversation has gotten away from him a little, but it’s Gabe and Tyson doing their Gabe and Tyson thing, so he’s okay with it. Even if he’s going to need to do some serious thinking about unsexy things soon. “I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.” 

“I have skills!” Tyson protests, because he is at the heart predictible and as much a competitive asshole as the rest of them. “That’s not–oh, fuck off,” he tells EJ, who’s basically just collapsed into Willy by now. 

“No, this is–fuck, you guys are amazing,” EJ tells them. “I should have recorded it.” 

“No you shouldn’t have,” Gabe informs him. Tyson hasn’t moved away from him, still. “Or I’ll…” He trails off, but EJ can extrapolate the threat from there. 

EJ scowls at him. “I’m staging a rebellion.” 

“Okay,” Gabe replies, because EJ threatens that about once a week. In the mean time, Tyson’s gone back to paying attention to his drink. Gabe glances at Willy, across the table, who looks like he’s still laughing at Gabe. Fuck him. Him and his–date things that he and Tyson apparently do, where they hang out and eat dinner and listen to music. Gabe could do that. 

“Hey, Brutes.” He nudges Tyson with his hip. “Have you listened to anything good recently?” 

Tyson gives him a suspicious look. The flush on his face hasn’t gone down since their last conversation. “You think my music taste is garbage.” 

“I don’t!” Gabe protests, even though, well. He kind of does. 

“You said, and I quote, that my music sounds like garbage being put through a trash disposal.” 

“No, I said that about Nate’s music,” Gabe corrects. That one he remembers. “Nate’s music is garbage.” 

“Hey, to each their own,” Tyson warns. “I mean, Mac’s music is questionable, but no throwing stones in houses made of ABBA, eh?” 

“ABBA is–” 

“Or Backstreet boys,” Tyson keeps going. “I have video of you doing the choreo and I’m not afraid to use it.” 

“Knowing the choreography to a classic is nothing to be ashamed of.” Gabe tosses his hair back. He stands by that. 

“Okay, whatever you say.” Tyson rolls his eyes, but he’s clearly laughing. Then–”Actually, Willy. I was on spotify and I heard something you’d like, here.”

“Oh, who’s it by?” Willy leans over the table to look at Tyson’s phone. He grabs at Tyson’s hand so he can angle it so he can see. 

Gabe glares at the place where they’re touching. “I’m getting another drink,” he announces. 

“Bye, Landy,” Willy tells him. Evenly. Tyson doesn’t say anything. 

Gabe sulks over to the bar, where he does order another beer because it gives him something to do. He can’t help looking back at the table, where Tyson and Willy are still looking at Tyson’s phone. 

What does Willy have that he doesn’t have, anyway? He’s big and blonde and hot, sure, but so is Gabe. Gabe’s just as good as he is at hockey–Gabe’s got the C, dammit. And, well. Maybe Willy’s older, he’s got that air of–maturity, maybe, but Gabe can be mature. He can be totally mature. 

Like Gabe could learn to like Tyson’s music, if he tried. He would try. Or, well. He’d pretend to, at least. Just because he didn’t have that in common with Tyson, it didn’t matter. They were still–they could still be what Gabe had thought they were making their way towards, slowly but surely, for all those years of not saying anything. Willy didn’t get to get in between that, just because he had that calming voice and did yoga, or whatever. Gabe could do yoga. He’d look great in yoga pants.   

Maybe Gabe’s drunker than he thought, or maybe the jealousy is getting him drunk, because he spins a little, as he shoves away from the bar to go to the bathroom. At least there he won’t have to see them. 

When he’s done, he steps out into the hallway, leans his head back against the wall. He does, actually, know this is ridiculous. He’s out with friends. He could go hang out with any of them. He shouldn’t be so–it’s all so–

“Captain Grumpy, for sure.” Tyson says, coming out of the bathroom. He kicks at Gabe’s shin. “Come on. We won! Be happy.”  

“I am,” Gabe says. It doesn’t come out sounding very convincing. He just. Tyson’s going to go run off with Willy and live in their kale-filled yurt, or whatever, and Gabe’s not going to get any more of Tyson. 

“Oh my god.” Tyson rolls his eyes. “Come on. Let’s go play some pool, eh? You always feel better when you’re beating Josty at pool.” 

“I do,” Gabe admits. He does. And of course Tyson knows that. 

“Good, let’s go.” Tyson steps past Gabe–then Gabe reaches out, grabs his wrist. Tyson freezes. “Gabe?” 

Maybe Gabe is drunker than he thought. Maybe he can sort of see Willy, right in the sliver of space in the main barroom the hall shows, and Gabe cannot handle Tyson going out there to get wooed away. Maybe Tyson’s just looking up at him with his big eyes and something like confusion and a dare in his eyes, and his lips are full and a little stained with whatever he’s been drinking, and the shadows are playing over his cheekbones, the places where his curls sit on his forehead, and he’s looking at Gabe like Gabe’s the only person in the world. 

“Gabe?” Tyson says again, like it’s caught in his throat, and Gabe tugs on his wrist. Tyson comes, easy for once. “Gabe?” Tyson says a third time, higher pitched, as Gabe lets his hand rest on Tyson’s shoulder. His thumb brushes over the bare skin at Tyson’s neck, and Gabe can feel it, the sparks that are always there. He can see Tyson shiver. 

It’s the shiver that does him in. He tugs Tyson that final bit closer, then leans down to kiss him. 

For a second, it’s everything Gabe had wanted, had thought about maybe more than he should have–the soft noise Tyson makes into his mouth, Tyson’s body pressed to his, Tyson’s  _lips_ –and then Tyson’s shoving him away. 

Gabe stumbles back, surprised. He hadn’t–they’ve been waiting for this for years. He was sure Tyson wanted this. This much, the sex stuff, at least. 

“You asshole,” Tyson snaps, and he’s flushed and not in a good way now; in the way he gets when someone’s been mean to Nate or one of the rookies. “You’re doing this  _now_? Seriously?” 

“I–” 

“Fuck off,” Tyson tells him, and there’s anger and Gabe can see the hurt behind it too, which is still so much worse. “Just–drink some water and fuck off, Landy.” 

“Wait, Tys–” But Tyson’s pulled away from him. By the time Gabe takes a deep breath and goes after him, he can’t see Tyson anywhere. 

He can also see Nate, glaring daggers at him from the bar, so that’s a no go. 

“He went outside.” Gabe jumps when Willy comes up next to him. Willy’s eyebrows are raised. He does not look impressed. Well, fuck him. “If you want to go apologize, say.” It doesn’t sound like a suggestion. 

“I was going to,” Gabe mutters. He’s not an idiot. Not even if this makes him feel like one. Willy’s only three years older than him, he doesn’t get to be all–like that. 

“Good. Go.” 

Gabe is tempted not to move, just to be a dick, but he also does want to go chase down Tyson, and in the end, that wins out. He goes. He’s going to go win back or maybe over Tyson, and that’ll be enough. 

He finds Tyson leaning against a wall where smokers might be, if it was more than 45 degrees. His eyes are half closed, his head tipped back. 

“Tys–” Gabe starts. 

“Go away.” 

“No.” Gabe crosses his arms. “I’m sorry. I thought you–that we–that you would be okay with that. If you didn’t want that–” 

“Of course I fucking wanted it!” Tyson’s eyes are open now, and he’s glaring at Gabe again. It’s still better than that hurt. “I’ve wanted it for years, you know that.” Gabe doesn’t deny it, but it settles something in him, something that had been raw and drawn without hearing those words. “But you finally do it now?” 

“What’s wrong with now?” Gabe protests. Sure, it’s not the most romantic setting, but he can do that later. 

“What’s wrong with now is that you just kissed me because you’re jealous of Willy.” Tyson throws his hands up. “I have been waiting for you to make a move for three fucking years, and now it’s tainted because you’re a jealous dick.” 

“It wasn’t just because–” 

“Yes it was!” It’s louder than it should be; Tyson takes a breath and lowers his voice. “You’re not subtle at all, Gabe. You were trying to like, lay claim. Because of Willy, who I am not dating, or interested in dating, or is interested in dating me, and is your fucking friend too and who you’re being a dick to!” 

“I–” 

But Tyson’s on a roll now. “And you don’t get to do that. I don’t care what we are, you don’t get to get mad at who I am hanging out with or talking to or doing anything, because I am not your anything, I am–” 

“Your own person, I know.” Gabe interrupts, because it’s the only way he’s getting a word in. Tyson’s mouth clicks closed, but he’s still breathing heavily. “I know that and I’m sorry, okay?” He is, he finds. He is. He knows. “I just–it felt like I was losing my chance, because I hadn’t said anything.” 

“Then you say something, like a normal person,” Tyson points out. “You don’t–start a investigation to figure out who I’m dating and then try to lay your claim all over me.” 

It’s a fair point, maybe. “You like me even though I”m not like a normal person, though,” Gabe says. Because he thinks that’s true. “Or maybe because.” 

Tyson’s lips quirk up, a little. “Ugh. I do,” he admits. Tyson never was good at staying angry long. 

But then the smile fades. “But you can’t do this shit,” He goes on. His back is hunching against the wall again. “If you’re going to be like this any time I have a friend–and you know how I am, sometimes. That’s not going to change. If you can’t handle it–” 

“I know. It shouldn’t. I don’t want you to change,” Gabe assures him, the words almost getting mixed up with how fast he’s trying to get them out. He doesn’t want Tyson to change. He loves Tyson for all his ridiculous, flirtatious, ways. “I just–it was just because I didn’t know.” He takes a breath. “It’s–Colin’s got a lot of the same pros I do, and he’s older and steady and he likes a lot of the same stuff you do–” 

“Yeah, let’s just find an internet source so you can see how little I care about that,” Tyson cuts him off, but he’s definitely smiling again. “And we like a lot of the same stuff. And who wants older and steadier? That sounds boring.” 

Gabe smiles back at him, hopeful. Tyson’s definitely relaxing now. “We’ve already established I’m not boring.” 

“Oh, you are, but in different, mainly sartorial ways.”

“You like how my clothes look on me.” Gabe takes a step forward, because he doesn’t think he’ll get punched now. Tyson’s head tips back so he can keep looking at him. 

“Everyone likes how your clothes look on you, that doesn’t mean you couldn’t wear a shirt that isn’t a neutral once in a while.” 

“Like you’d know?” 

“I have a very sophisticated wardrobe, Gabriel,” Tyson retorts, and he’s definitely laughing now. Gabe wants to taste it. Wants to taste all of Tyson’s moods, because he can now, because he knows he can and they can finally do this. 

Gabe takes another step closer–and Tyson puts up a hand. “No,” Tyson says. Gabe freezes. He’d thought– “No, I am not rewarding bad behavior. We need a do-over first kiss, when you’re doing it for the right reasons.” 

“I’d be kissing you for the right reasons now,” Gabe points out, looking very obviously at Tyson’s mouth. “You said some things about your smoothies I want to test the truth of.”

Tyson flushes red right down his neck, but shakes his head. “No. No,” he repeats, more firmly. “You were a dick and you don’t get rewarded for that. We’re going inside.” 

“Tyson–” 

“Inside,” Tyson says, and Gabe sighs, but he lets Tyson pull him inside. He even buys Willy a drink, though Willy’s smirking at him like he knows exactly what’s been happening. Gabe’s not exactly pleased with that. But Tyson keeps stealing looks at him all night and then touching his lips, and Gabe had definitely seen Tyson and Nate fist bump earlier and Nate’s stopped glaring at Gabe, so Gabe can handle some smirking from Willy. He got the real prize. 

* * *

“You’re coming with me, captain’s orders,” Gabe announces, grabbing Tyson’s wrist as soon as they’re off the ice and basically changed. Tyson’s grinning, still excited from his last second game-winner; he’s brilliant and joking with the guys and Gabe wants to keep him like this forever. And it’s been a full week. If Gabe doesn’t get to kiss him now, he’s–going to sulk very hard, probably. 

“Am I?” Tyson asks, but he’s laughing as Gabe tugs him down a hallway where no one really goes. “Are you going to murder me? Because this looks murdery, Landy, I”m not going to–” 

Gabe cuts him off by pushing him against the wall, then turning to pin him in. Tyson doesn’t look very put off by it. “Does this count as a good reason?” he demands. 

Tyson grins up at him. Maybe he was right–Gabe still thinks they wasted a week, but maybe this is a better first kiss, all joy and no anger or bitterness or alcohol. Just Gabe and Tyson.

“Yeah, this’ll do,” Tyson agrees, and then he’s tugging Gabe in himself, and Gabe forget there’s anyone else in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to talk about it? Comment or come chat on tumblr at [ fanforthefics!](http://fanforthefics.tumblr.com/)


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